


Lead Me To Moonlight

by Welsh_Woman



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crossover, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Derek is Johnny, Dirty Dancing AU, Discussion of Abortion, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles is Baby, Tags May Change, Unwanted Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Welsh_Woman/pseuds/Welsh_Woman
Summary: Stiles Stilinski has his life all figured out and knows exactly what he wants to do as soon as the summer is over. A chance meeting at the resort his family vacations at not only turns all of that on its head but introduces him to someone that he never planned for and could never forget.(Or the Dirty Dancing AU that kinda took over my life!)





	1. Welcome to Argent's

**Author's Note:**

> This would not have been possible without the wonderful cheerleading of the sterekdrabbles Discord group! They are such a cozy bunch of individuals and made working on this story an absolute joy! This is a gift for all of you!!! :D
> 
> (Also, many thanks to allourheroes for both giving me the idea that started this whole thing, betaing this and making it less of a hot mess, and just being an awesome person over all! <3 You!!)

_It was the summer of 1963, when everyone called me “Stiles” and it didn't occur to me to mind._

_That was before President Kennedy was shot, before the Werewolf Registration Act was being argued in courts, before the Beatles, when I couldn’t wait to join the police force, and I thought I’d never find a guy as great as my dad._

_That was the summer we went to Argent’s…_

Stiles yawns a little, stretching his legs as far as they can go in the slightly cramped car he had been in for the past however-many-hours. Lydia makes a slightly annoyed noise beside him, but it seems like she, too, is anxious to stop sitting for so damn long and _move_.

Natalie chuckles from up front, Stiles’ father giving her a fond look as they no doubt nonverbally communicate about restless children. Stiles would pout, but he likes that his father found someone he could connect with the way that he used to with Stiles’ mother, so he says nothing.

Instead, he looks outside the windows at the passing countryside, grateful when he sees a large sign proclaiming ‘Argent Mountain House: Chris Argent Welcomes You!’ right before the trees that have bordered the road finally start to clear.

Argent Mountain House is really a _mountain_ of a house; Stiles would be more apt to call it a _mansion_ , but that was just him. He is _also_ sure they have a better lawn than the White House, but again, that’s just quibbling over details.

Soon enough, the car slows down, and they park their station wagon somewhere out of the way. Stiles practically bolts from the car and makes a big show of stretching out all the kinks and pains of his body.

John huffs in fond exasperation at his son, with Natalie checking Lydia over to see if she is alright after the long drive. Lydia hums an affirmative and comments that she hopes her shoes made it safely, considering they were brand new and had to be packed near the part of the car with the hole in the side.

“…if I can’t color coordinate my outfit for the entire time we’re here, there will be hell to pay!”

“Imagine if that was all that it took for the government to get involved in matters,” John playfully teases, as he always does when Lydia gets a bit dramatic. “One of the attendees at a state dinner wore a red tie instead of a black one! The President is wearing cowboy boots in Congress!”

“A delegate is seen in white after Saint Patrick’s Day!” Stiles chimes in, finally moving over to where the rest of the family is standing.

“Butt out, Stiles!” Lydia aims a swat at her brother, but he just dodges the blow and makes his way to the back of the car and starts pulling the luggage out from the truck.

A man with a megaphone bellows the week’s itinerary while a frazzled valet follows him around, capturing Stiles’ attention long enough for him to miss the pair walking up until they’re practically on top of them.

“Sheriff!”

John’s head jerks up at the old nickname, a smile splitting his face when he sees a man with piercing blue eyes headed their way. “Chris! Fancy seeing you here!”

‘Chris’ laughs at that, grabbing John’s hand and giving it an enthusiastic shake. “It only took me three years, but I finally got you up on my mountain!”

“Be nice, Chris. He hasn't had a vacation in all those years, either!” Natalie laughs as she comes up to wrap a hand around John’s arm.

“Just so you kids know, if this man wasn’t standing here, I wouldn’t be either.” Chris’ voice gets really serious, his eyes steady and unflinching on Stiles’ father. It makes a slight chill go down Stiles’ spine and he breaks the heavy tension by ‘accidentally’ dropping the case in his hand.

That seems to get everyone’s attention.

“Scott! Get the bags!” Chris snaps at the man at his elbow before turning back to John with a grin. “I kept the best cabin on the mountain for you and your beautiful family.”

“Aw, Chris, you didn’t have to do that!”

“It was the least I could do after everything you’ve done for me.”

Tuning out the small talk now that the strange intensity is gone, Stiles goes back to getting their luggage, making ‘Scott’ give him a grin as they unload the truck together.

“You’re pretty good at this. How do you feel about a summer job?”

Stiles chuckles as Chris tells John about the various different classes they have in store for him, Natalie shaking her head beside Stiles’ father.

“Don’t forget about your heart, John. You might want to take it easy…”

“A few weeks here will feel like a year,” Chris promises, a grin making his face much more handsome than that intense glare had. “Although, if the dancing is too much for you, we _do_ have a lake that you can lounge by. Get a nice tan going on.”

John takes a deep breath and looks over at where Stiles has joined them. “Now _that_ sounds like my kind of vacation. _Stiles_ , on the other hand, could probably keep up with that dance class!”

Stiles can feel the blood rushing to his face as Lydia snickers, no doubt reminded of the last time that Stiles ever tried dancing. Visions of a bloodied nose and threats of legal action fill his head even as he’s nervously stammering out, “N-no, Mr. Argent, I really don’t think that would be a good ide–”

“Nonsense,” Chris insists, a gleam in his eye that says he knows exactly how his little idea is making Stiles feel. “The teacher is amazing, used to be a Rockette! You’ll be doing the jitterbug in no time!”

“Yeah, Stiles,” Lydia chimes in, no doubt eager to get back at him for his comment earlier. “Why don’t you show us how good your moves are?”

Seeing that he’s not going to get any sympathy from his family – even Natalie is giving him an encouraging grin, no doubt trying to keep his father off the dance floor – Stiles heaves a heavy sigh and accepts his fate.

“Don’t look so gloomy, kid! You’re going to love it!”

* * *

The dance class isn’t a _complete_ disaster…

Stiles is pretty sure that has to do with the instructor – a beautiful blond with a smile like a shark – having a sixth sense for when he’s about to knock into someone and the way she just _flies_ across the floor to make sure that _doesn’t_ happen.

How she manages to keep the time while doing that and _stay happy_ during it is a miracle, something that Stiles is going to make sure that he talks to Chris about giving her a pay raise for.

_“Aw, come on, ladies! God wouldn’t have given you maracas if he didn’t want you to shaaaaakkkeee ’eeeemmmmm!!!”_

Make that _two_ pay raises…

As it is, he makes it out of the class with minimal damage, both to his feet and his pride, after spending half the class dancing with this little old lady that looked at him like he was her long-lost lover come home again.

It isn’t until later that night that Stiles finally gets a moment to himself and he immediately takes it to do some exploring. Granted, he _loves_ his family, but there are times when he just needs some _space_.

He heads towards the main house to have a look around, letting the music of the crickets and quiet mountain air flow around him as he makes his way up to the large mansion, the halls eerily quiet without all the classes and programs going on.

(True, there _are_ a few groups going out for stargazing and moonlight walks, but they are only at the house for a few moments before they’re heading into the woods and clearings, giggling as they go.)

Soon enough, Stiles is walking along the upper reaches of the house, idly counting all the cabins that he can see, when light from the door in front of him draws his attention, voices coming clearly from the room the closer he gets to it. After only just a moment of hesitation, Stiles decides to peek through the slight crack in the door.

“There are two kinds of help at this resort. You waiters are all college kids. I went to Harvard and Yale to hire you. Now, why did I do that?”

Inside are Chris Argent and the rest of the resort staff, getting what seems to be a rundown of the rules for the summer. It looks like a military debriefing and Stiles can’t help ducking back behind the door when there’s a sudden slamming sound from the other end of the hall.

There is a slight clamor, laughter and random thuds following it before a voice cuts through the din.

“I thought this was a high-end resort. What are the dogs doing here?”

There’s absolute silence after that and the next time Stiles peeks in, his breath is caught in his throat:

On the other side of the room, there’s a group of people with glowing amber eyes. In their midst, half-hidden in shadow, is someone who has everyone’s attention despite the growling mass behind them.

The person takes a few steps forward, allowing the light to reveal a strong jaw and angular face topped with ebony hair. The man’s body is as lean as his face and his steps are slow and predatory, making Stiles – despite the fact that he’s hidden and half a room away – shrink back behind the door.

The man leans in to whoever spoke and waits until they’re only a hairsbreadth apart before letting his lips curve into a smug, satisfied smile. When he speaks, his voice is a soft murmur that Stiles has to strain to hear, instead of the angry growl that Stiles was expecting.

“You just put your pickle on everybody’s plate and leave the hard stuff to us, pretty boy.”

The Weres snicker and nudge each other, a few mutterings here and there as their leader – Stiles thinks he’s called an Alpha? – makes his way back over to them. They start leaving the room when Chris’ voice rings out, making the Alpha tense where he stills.

“I know that you and your wolves have your own set of rules, but while you’re here, you will listen to what _I_ say. You teach these people the dances, you make nice when they fall on their faces, but you keep to yourselves. No conversations and you keep your hands _off_ of them. You understand?”

There are a few growls, no doubt from what the wolves see as a challenge to their Alpha, but the man in question just gives a slight nod before ushering his Pack out. The wait staff goes back to muttering amongst themselves about how rude and disgusting the Weres are, shockingly brave now that they were no longer in hearing distance.

Unseen by all of them, Stiles slowly backs away from the door, wondering if there is a way he can convince one of the Weres to bend the rules just a _little_ bit.

Just enough for Stiles to maybe ask a question or two…

Making his way back to where they’re roomed, Stiles makes sure everyone is distracted with their own pursuits before pulling out the one book he managed to find on Weres and their habits.

It was highly debated when he first heard about it, with people claiming it was either printed depravity and should be banned from all libraries, or a grossly exaggerated volume designed to shock and disgust its readers. Stiles didn’t really agree one way or the other and was smart enough to take everything it said with a grain of salt.

Slipping one of the tamer covers he has over the book, just in case someone wants to ‘check up on him,’ Stiles immediately immerses himself into what he can glean from the ‘exposé’ in his hands.

Combing through the embellishments and what even _he_ can tell are outright _lies_ , Stiles finds out he _is_ right about the leader being called an ‘Alpha’ and that a group of Weres is called a ‘Pack.’ It’s unclear whether the growling was a Pack thing, or just because the Weres had a problem with Chris, and Stiles doesn’t get a chance to figure that out before his father is telling the lot of them to get ready for dinner.

Sighing, Stiles decides that he’ll figure out what the whole deal with the Argents and the Weres later.


	2. First Dance

Chris apparently has taken it upon himself to be their _personal_ host, because he meets them at the Dining Hall to show them ‘the very best table’ and introduces them to Jackson Whittemore, a Harvard med student who is going to be their personal waiter.

“Jackson, you take extra special care of this family. They are my _personal_ guests and I want nothing but the _best_ for them.”

The guy smiles at all of them, but his eyes linger for a bit on Lydia in a way that makes Stiles more than a little uneasy. Thankfully, everyone is more than ready to order their food after the day’s activities and Jackson isn’t around long.

Stiles’ good luck, unfortunately, doesn’t last, as Jackson seems to have taken Chris’ words to heart and is at their table every five minutes, filling up their glasses and asking if there was anything that they needed. While he would commend the excellent service, the way Jackson emphasized ‘ _anything_ ’ while looking at Lydia made Stiles want to rip his face off.

He manages to repress his urges by meal’s end, Chris making his way back to their table as they’re discussing what to do with all the leftovers. Stiles makes an offhand comment about starving children in Southeast Asia and his father immediately makes Jackson wrap up the leftovers to be sent there.

“He’s saving the world before he even puts on a badge!” John declares with a proud grin, lifting his wineglass in a small salute.

“What about you, ma’am?” Chris asks of Lydia, no doubt noticing how quiet she’s been the whole evening. “What are you going to be doing for the world?”

“Oh, Lydia’s going to decorate it,” Stiles teases, knowing that Lydia _hates_ it when he takes her love for fashionable clothes and rubs it in her face.

Just like he thought, Lydia is just opening her mouth to no doubt tear him to pieces when Jackson decides to chime in with, “She already does.”

Complete with a _wink_.

Lydia gives him a smile and it’s all that Stiles can to do to keep from rolling his eyes at that. Granted, he _did_ start it with his comment, but he _hates it_ when Lydia dumbs herself down to get the guy she has her eye on. Normally, Stiles would just make sure that the asshole didn’t have a criminal record, but there was something about Jackson he just _didn’t like_.

A pale brunette coming up to their table pulls Stiles from his thoughts, a bit surprised when Chris puts his arm around her and gives her a fond squeeze.

“Stilinskis, I would like you to meet my daughter. Allison, these are the Stilinskis.” Chris waits until they all have either waved or said hello before giving Allison another squeeze. “Allison here is going to the Cornell School of Hotel Management. Plans on taking over when her father gets too old to keep up with the rest of you youngsters.”

“Dad…” Allison rolls her eyes, but her expression is fond. Clearly, this is a conversation that they’ve had more than once.

“Stiles is starting Mount Holyoke in the fall,” John oh-so-casually mentions, giving Chris a wink and making Stiles repress a sigh at his father’s unsubtle attempts to match him up with Chris’ daughter.

“Oh, that’s great!” Allison replies with a smile, actually sounding like she means it. Stiles’ returning smile is more of a grimace; he appreciates her trying to be polite, but now it just means that his Dad will be even more inclined for them to spend time together.

Sure enough, Chris suggests a bit of dancing to ‘burn off dinner to keep themselves trim’ and three guesses on who Stiles ends up paired with.

“Are you going to major in English?”

Allison seems nice, trying to get to know Stiles a little better, it’s just that Stiles knows that this whole thing is a setup by their parents and it’s making him uncomfortable. And when he gets uncomfortable, he gets short.

“No. Criminology and Social Behaviors. I'm going to join the police force.”

Allison hums in answer, before dimpling at him and saying, “After the final show, I’m going to join an archery circuit for a few months before school starts. I figured I could do one last bit of rebellious freedom before I take over for my Dad.”

With a smile and a nod, Stiles allows his attention to drift along the dancefloor. It’s obvious that he and Allison have nothing in common, so talking any further would just be a waste of time. He figures that they can finish this one last dance and then he’ll call it a night.

His Dad and Natalie seem to be having a good time, as well as Lydia and Jackson. The guy is actually talking to her, so maybe Stiles’ judgment might have been a _little_ off and there might be more to him than a smarmy grin.

He’s just about to ask Allison if she knows anything about the guy when the music kicks up to a high-paced beat and a pair of dancers clearing out a space for themselves in the middle of the hall catch his eye.

The way that they move with each other, ease and fluidity that Stiles could never capture in his dizziest daydreams, makes something foreign and warm lodge itself in his chest. Stiles stops dead in the middle of the floor, utterly entranced by the performance.

“Who are they?”

Allison looks over to where Stiles’ attention has been caught and it’s like a cloud has passed over her face. Stiles takes a step back, which seems to snap Allison out of whatever dark thoughts overtook her as she shoots him a smile that’s a little brittle around the edges.

“That’s Derek Hale and Erica Reyes. They’re our dancers.” The disgust in Allison’s tone makes Stiles wonder if ‘dancer’ was what she _really_ wanted to say. “They’re here to keep the residents happy and teach them the basics. _Not_ show off with each other.”

Stiles is tempted to say that the other vacationers look pretty happy watching Derek and Erica – the man that Chris had yelled at and his instructor from that morning – dance, but he’s already been reprimanded for saying whatever pops into his head today, so he holds his tongue.

Another scoff from Allison has him biting his lip to keep to that promise, especially when she follows it up with, “Like _that_ will sell dancing lessons…”

Pretty sure that Derek and Erica could sell polluted real estate moving the way that they do, Stiles catches Chris Argent out of the corner of his eye. The man is _also_ watching the pair fly around the dance floor, looking just as pleased as his daughter about the whole thing.

He waits until Derek has Erica’s back pressed against his chest, both of them facing him, before making a quick cutting motion across his throat. They must see it, because they make one last turn before breaking away from each other, approaching other dancers with an outstretched hand and a smile.

It doesn’t take long for them to find new partners and the floor is back to its crowded beginnings, the band slowing down to something a little more ‘appropriate.’

The rush that had filled Stiles’ chest when he saw them enter the room has dulled to a dim ache, a feeling of disappointment settling in his chest as he sighs and turns back to Allison.

Just then, his father spins by him with Natalie in his arms.

“Hey, kids! Having fun?”

Allison gives him a tight-lipped smile and a quip of “Oh, yeah. Tons.” before seeming to shake off whatever foul mood she was under. “Actually, I need to excuse myself. I’m in charge of the games tonight.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure that Stiles–”

“I’m thinking of turning in for the night, Dad.” Stiles gives his father what he hopes is a believable wince. “I’ve got a bit of a headache and I think the extra rest would probably do me some good.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Natalie manages to ask before John can say anything else, something that Stiles is eternally grateful for.

“Yeah, I probably just need some rest. Did a lot more than what I was originally planning to do on my first day of vacation!”

Everyone laughs and Allison asks about his plans for tomorrow, his dad giving Stiles a wink over her shoulder. Making some vague comment about seeing what happens tomorrow, _tomorrow_ , Stiles finally makes it out of the Dance Hall and into the cool night air.

Sighing heavily, Stiles meanders along the lit walkway that seems to crisscross over the entirety of the resort property. He’s not really watching where he’s going, just taking a few moments for himself before he has to go back to their rooms and listen to his Dad grouch at him about how rude he was to Allison.

His idleness is soon interrupted by the sound of music, but not the sedate tunes that are usually played up at the Big House. This instead is lively and overwhelmingly _fun_ , making Stiles bounce a little bit as he looks for it's source.

After a little searching, Stiles sees an outbuilding tucked up next to the woods, the music blasting from the windows like the most unapologetic siren’s song. He’s so entranced and eager to get to the music that he almost runs into someone else on the walkway.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

Stiles jumps, surprised to see the boy that had helped them when they first arrived now staring at him like he just saw a ghost. He also, for some strange reason, has three watermelons practically falling out of his arms.

“Here, let me help... Scott, right? That was your name?”

“Yeah, that’s me– Wait, you’re not supposed to be here! How did you get back here?”

“I walked.” Stiles finally manages to wrestle one of the watermelons from Scott without dropping the other two. “What’s that music? What’s going on back here?”

“Who are yo– Oh! Wait. You’re Stiles, right? Chris’ _special guest’s_ kid? Well, Stiles, guests aren’t allowed this way. So, why don’t you go back to the Big House, huh? I saw you dancing with the boss’ kid, make nice with her instead of looking for trouble, okay?”

Frustrated by Scott’s inability to let him help and the way he sneers when he talks about Allison, Stiles nearly drops the watermelon back into Scott’s arms and stomps off. He figures at least his books won’t be pissed that he wanted to spend a few moments with them.

“Hey, hey, wait!”

Stiles gives Scott a look that says he better start talking quick. Scott gives him a grin and motions his head toward the building.

“You wanna know a secret?”

It’s like the guy knows exactly what will get Stiles to come back, practically skipping in excitement.

“Your parents will kill you.”

Stiles eagerly takes one of the watermelons again, motioning for Scott to lead the way.

Scott sighs and starts in the direction of the outbuilding.

“Chris is going to kill _me_.”

Stiles huffs and nudges Scott forward, only half listening as he complains about all the ways that this is going to come and bite him in the ass when all of this is over.

Thankfully, Stiles doesn’t have to listen that long before they’re standing outside of the building, the thumping of the music making the doors rattle in their frames. Scott takes a deep breath and then bumps the doors open with his butt, somehow almost losing his grip on the watermelons as he does so.

Stiles is... a little too preoccupied to make fun of him for it.

He already knew that the music was different from what they played in the Big House, he just wasn’t prepared for the dancing to be so different as well...

A few heads turn in his direction, but they don’t stop moving their bodies as they do so, and it’s a little–

The way they move so close to each other, the shifting and almost flat out _grinding_ they’re doing...

Stiles can’t help but feel like they’re practically having sex on the dancefloor.

“How do they know how to do that?”

Scott gives an uncaring shrug. “Dunno. Kids were doing it in the basements back home. You wanna try?”

Shaking his head even as Scott is giving him a playful wiggle of his hips, Stiles stays where he's at. He really doesn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of people who seem to be able to move with almost flawless grace.

Scott’s grin grows even bigger as he jerks his head past the direction of the dancefloor. “Come on, Stiles.”

Moving through the dancers is an _experience_ , one that Stiles isn’t sure he wants to repeat, considering that everyone looks like they’re thinking about ripping him to shreds for interrupting. He keeps his head down and tries not to let his eyes linger for too long on the way that the Weres’ hands seem to lay almost _possessively_ on their partners, bodies close and almost _overlapping_...

A low growl has Stiles snapping his gaze to his feet, not raising his eyes until he makes it to where Scott is standing and has put the watermelon with its friends on the table.

When the Weres suddenly start clapping and cheering, Stiles can’t help but look where all commotion is coming from. His heart almost beats out of his chest when he sees Derek and Erica enter the room, more so when they almost immediately become one with the rest of the dancers with no misstep or hesitation.

“Oh, hey, look! It’s Derek and Erica. Derek’s the one that got me this gig.”

Stiles hums in response, eyes stuck on the way that Derek effortlessly lifts Erica up so that she’s settled on his shoulders, her body only swaying because of how she moves it.

“They look great together.”

“Yeah. You’d think that they were a couple.”

“They’re not?” Scott’s head tilts at Stiles, almost as soon as he speaks, and Stiles is grateful that it’s so hot in here, that he can blame his red face on that.

“No... Not since we were kids.”

There’s a speculative gleam in Scott’s eyes that Stiles _does not_ like, so he quickly asks for some stories about Scott’s childhood, hoping to distract him from whatever thoughts he might be thinking.

Thankfully, it works. Despite the pounding music, Scott manages to tell Stiles a few stories about how much trouble he managed to get into as a kid, and how Derek was the one that usually got him out of it.

“Hey, pup!” Someone bumps into Scott from behind, almost knocking him into Stiles, as an annoyed voice immediately draws Stiles’ attention. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“He’s with me, Derek! It’s fine, he came with me!”

Then Stiles is pinned by a pair of eyes that defy explanation, seeming to look right through him where he stands. It’s like he’s one of those butterflies on a display board and everything is in slow motion.

His brain flounders for _something_ trapped under that gaze and all that comes out is, “I carried a watermelon.”

Derek’s expression immediately becomes unimpressed, flickering over to Scott as if he’s questioning the other man’s sanity before he goes back to the dance floor. Stiles waits until he’s pressed up against Erica again before spinning to Scott and demanding, “‘I carried a watermelon’?!”

Scott _laughs_ , the asshole, and Stiles just wants to **die**. Embarrassment heats his face despite the warmth of the room and it’s a long while before Stiles can look anywhere but at the floor.

When he finally does raise his gaze, he does it just in time to see Derek and Erica continue to _own_ the dancefloor. There’s a crowd of people there, sure, but the pair of them seem to draw the eye whether spectator or fellow dancer.

After another circuit, Derek suddenly moves away from the floor and toward where Stiles is standing with Scott. He grins at Stiles – this wide, feral smirk that makes Stiles feel like he’s about to be eaten alive and freezes him where he stands.

Derek quirks his finger in a ‘come hither’ gesture, before just reaching out and pulling Stiles forward. Stiles feels like he can’t help but follow, even as he throws a look that asks for help – or even a bit of clarification – Scott’s way.

Scott just shrugs his shoulders and does nothing to stop Derek. Looks like Stiles is on his own on this, which isn’t so bad when Derek has his hands on his shoulders and his surprisingly soft voice is telling him to bend his knees as he moves his hips.

Tentative and unsure, Stiles tries to follow Derek’s instructions, feeling like a newborn giraffe compared to the flawless and completely _thoughtless_ way everyone else is moving.

“Hey. Watch my eyes. Watch.”

Wanting to scoff at the thought of looking at Derek and having _any_ kind of concentration, Stiles nonetheless tries to follow that instruction as he keeps darting his gaze up to Derek’s face and back down to their bodies when he feels like his rhythm goes off.

“Here, move your hips. Like this.”

Stiles is sure that he loses the plot for a second or two, staring at the way that Derek moves his body, but thankfully someone bumps into him with a laugh and he remembers what it is he’s supposed to be doing.

He gives a few half circles of his hips, finding it surprisingly hard to keep track of which direction he should be going, but he can’t be doing half bad with the way that Derek is looking at him.

“Good!” Derek actually looks _happy_ as he says that, before a smirk slips across his lips and he intones, “Now try _this_.”

That… That looks a lot more complicated than the first little swivel that he was doing. This is like… swivel plus swerve, something that Stiles really needs to concentrate on as he tries to do it–

Derek, the bastard, is just smirking the whole time Stiles is trying to figure the move out and decides to completely short circuit Stiles’ brain as he reaches forward and pulls Stiles right up against him.

Freezing, Stiles automatically grabs at Derek’s shoulders, not sure what the next step is. Derek just keeps moving, gently bumping up against Stiles on every downbeat and after a little while, Stiles finds the rhythm again.

After that, it’s almost _easy_ to dance the way Derek and the rest of the Weres do. Like once he stops thinking about it, which is really easy wrapped up in Derek’s arms, he manages just fine. Stiles will readily admit it isn’t nearly as smooth or graceful as the rest of the dancers around him, but Stiles feels almost _breathless_ with the fun that he’s having.

Stiles doesn’t want to stop dancing, moving with Derek makes him feel like... like _nothing_ he’s ever felt before. Sadly, the music stops far too quickly and Derek spins Stiles off his shoulders and walks away.

Thrown by the sudden change in both balance and heat, Stiles stumbles a bit before Scott is at his elbow, a hand out to steady him and a grin splitting his face.

“Fun, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Stiles’ breathlessness is only half due to the way he’s been moving, but Scott thankfully only has super senses, not mind reading. “Yeah, it definitely was... something different.”


	3. Surprises Come In All Forms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  __  
>  **PLEASE HEED THE NEW TAGS!!!**  
>   
> 
> Things will get a little intense from here on in and I wanted to preempt any discomfort. The next few chapters follow the Dirty Dancing plot pretty closely, which includes the Penny plotline. Bear that in mind while reading these next chapters, please, and stay safe!

Stiles is _not_ stalking Derek Hale.

Stalking means that Stiles has _some_  clue as to where Derek is or where he disappeared to after practically dumping Stiles on his butt.

Blowing out a huff of air after the third dance hall reveals no new leads, Stiles can say he’s a little surprised when he bumps into Erica exiting the building.

Well, ‘bumps’ is kind of a general term. More like he turns and sees her before he’s suddenly slammed into the closed door behind him. He’s also a little surprised by the–

“Claws. Claws on my chest. Okay, hi. Why are there claws on my chest?!?”

“Shut up,” Erica growls, eyes flickering to gold before she blinks and gives Stiles a grin that has him wondering just how fast Weres are. “Don’t even think about it. I want to know what you want with Derek.”

“Nothing that calls for claws on my chest!”

Erica growls lowly, a warning that she is not one to be trifled with, something that Stiles really doesn’t need to be pointed out because, hello: _claws on the chest_!

“You get tired of your boss-daughter plaything and decided to go after something a little more dangerous?”

Stiles is pretty sure that his jaw is in the region of his knees, but he’s not sure how else to react to what Erica just said. Is that really how she sees him? “Wh-what the hell?”

“Here’s a quick tip, rich kid; stay away from Derek Hale if you want to keep your balls where they are.”

With another sharp grin, Erica gives his chest one more push before walking down the dance hall stairs, leaving Stiles to thump his head against the door behind him as he tries to get his heart under control.

Holy shit, that was scary!

Yet, there were two important things that Stiles learned from that interaction: the Weres really didn’t have a high opinion of non-Weres (except Scott, but that seemed like more a Scott thing than anything else) and Derek wasn’t going to be found until he _wanted_ to be found.

That was the only reason that Stiles decided to call off his search for now and find the rest of his family. Nothing to do with the fact that one of his favorite shirts had five long gashes along the front now.

Poking at the holes in his shirt, Stiles sighs and makes a quick detour to their cabin, wondering if there was a sewing kit in their stuff because he really doesn’t want to toss another shirt away.

Especially considering that this one wasn’t his fault!

Stiles ends up not seeing Derek again until later that night, when they are once again meeting up with Chris and Allison, almost the entirety of the vacationers gathered in a covered gazebo.

Derek is on the opposite side of the room from Stiles, arms around a tall, beautiful woman that smiles shyly up at him as they waltz around the floor. Stiles can’t help but be envious of the way that they move together and how Derek doesn’t look like he’s going to walk away as soon as _they’re_ done dancing...

“That’s Jennifer Monroe.” Chris’ voice makes Stiles start, eyes skipping over to where he’s standing, having not even realized that he joined them already. “She’s a ‘Bungalow Bunny’; she stays here the entire week while her husband comes up on the weekend. Her dancing has really improved as the weeks have gone by...”

Jennifer notices them watching and gives a little wave, looking bashful and adorable as Derek gently corrects her when her beat goes off from paying too much attention to them.

Stiles is almost grateful for Allison coming up behind them and breaking up their little two-step. _Almost_ grateful, because the next thing Allison does is immediately begin to lay into Derek for Erica being missing.

“She’s just stepped out for a few minutes. Keep your skirt on, kid.”

Allison looks less than pleased, her cheeks flaming at Derek’s comment.

“Well, she has a private session with Deucalion in half an hour, so make sure that she doesn’t take _all_ night.”

Allison stomps away from Derek, with him looking like he would be happy to stab her in the back as she leaves. The frown drops from her face as soon as she makes her way to where Stiles and his family are, and Derek’s gaze drifts over to Stiles before he quickly looks away.

“Everything alright, honey?” Chris’ tone is completely pleasant, but his eyes are glued to Derek, even as he reaches out and wraps one arm around Allison’s frame. “You need me to take care of something?”

“No, Dad. I’ve got everything under control.” Allison shakes her head and blows out a breath, giving Stiles a wide smile when she spots him. “As a matter of fact, I was just about to ask Stiles to take a walk with me.”

“I’m sure that Stiles would love to take a walk with you!” John grins, right before he tugs Natalie towards the dance floor. “I was just going take this lovely lady for a spin around the room!”

“Stiles would really love to be able to speak for _himself_ ,” Stiles mumbles, but gives Allison a returning smile and his arm, ignoring the smirk on Chris’ face and the almost certain knowledge that the man heard what he said.

Allison makes small talk as they walk along the boardwalk, the stars casting a beautiful glow that lights up where the candles don’t reach. There is a light wind, which keeps everything from being overly warm. All in all, it would be a perfect romantic night.

Too bad the only person that Stiles wants to spend it with is wrapped up with someone far prettier, far nicer, and far more graceful.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Stiles’ head snaps over to where Allison is looking at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Feeling like an asshole, Stiles tries to dig himself out of the situation.

“No, it’s not that! It’s just–”

“I know that I can go on for a while about my archery, but I would hope that I was more interesting than a _ficus_. Yet, you’ve been staring at that bush like you’re seconds away from trying to hide in it for the past five minutes.”

Sighing heavily and deciding that he’s already in it, Stiles just goes with the truth. “It’s not that you aren’t lovely, or interesting, it’s just that this whole thing has been orchestrated by our parents and it’s kinda pissing me off that they think they can jerk us around like this. If I was going to fall in love with you, I’d rather it be on my own terms, not just being pushed at you until I stuck.”

Surprisingly enough, Allison laughs at that, shaking her head as she gives Stiles a fond nod. “Yeah, I can see how that would be frustrating. I’m sorry. I never thought to ask if you wanted to go along with all of this. I just thought that you were shy and embarrassed by having your parents ask me for you. Shows how well I know you, huh?”

“So, I’m not going to end up with an arrow in my ass for telling you this?”

That earns him another laugh and Allison winks at him before stating, “No, I save that for the people I’m _really_  mad at. But feel free to use seeing me practice as an excuse to get some breathing room when your family drives you crazy.”

The evening becomes a lot more enjoyable when the pressure of romance is off the table and Stiles finds himself chatting happily with Allison, even going as far as agreeing when Allison suggests sneaking into the kitchen for something to eat.

Giggling like a little kid as they sneak into the rather large cooking space, Stiles suggests that they split up to find something to nibble on, pointing out that at least one of them won’t get in trouble if they get caught.

Allison is kind enough not to point out that she wouldn’t get in trouble anyway, if she’s the one caught, since her father owns the resort and all.

After a few moments of deliberation, Stiles decides to take the pantry as Allison takes the refrigerator. He’s only in there for a few moments before he sees a shape in the far corner that seems to be shaking uncontrollably.

It takes a few seconds of straining his eyes before he realizes he knows that shade of blonde hair.

“Erica?” Stiles whispers, barely moving his lips so that Allison can’t hear him, so that he can barely hear _himself_.

The Were’s head jerks up, eyes glowing amber even as tears continue to fall down her cheeks, and her lips pull back into a silent snarl. Stiles takes the hint and looks away, right as Allison rounds the corner.

“I couldn’t find anything we could eat cold, but if you don’t mind– What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Stiles clears his throat when that comes out a little high, going as far as to even fake up a cough or two. “I just think that this is a bit of a bust and it might be better if I went back to my parents. I want to check in on Lydia.”

For a heart-stopping moment, it seems like Allison won’t buy what he’s saying. It takes just long enough for his heart to kick up before she’s nodding and leading the way outside.

Stiles makes good on his word, meeting up with his Dad and Natalie, even searching the room and making a face when he sees Lydia batting her eyes at Jackson. His heart is pounding the entire time, and he knows the Weres can hear it, what with the worried looks Scott gives him by the music player and the way Derek’s shoulders get tense whenever he happens to be on the same side of the room.

No one else seems to notice or even comment on Stiles’ mood and it eats away at him the entire time Allison makes small talk while working the room. He barely waits until she leaves before he’s sprinting over to where Scott is standing, scarcely remembering to fake a smile at the people he bumps into.

“Stiles, what’s–”

“It’s Erica. I saw Erica in the pantry and I think… I think there’s something wrong.”

Scott’s eyes flare, too quick for anyone not looking at him to notice before he leans very slightly forward – Stiles mimicking the action in an attempt to somehow help – and takes a deep breath.

Eyes impossibly wide, Scott darts around him to the dance floor and almost immediately runs into three people. By the time he gets to Derek, quite a few people have started muttering about the disrespectful Were interrupting a perfectly good evening. Scott ignores them all to yank Derek’s head down and whisper in his ear.

Derek immediately stiffens before his gaze snaps over to where Stiles is standing and then back to Scott. Making a quick apology to Jennifer (which causes a random shot of jealousy to flit through Stiles’ veins; have they been dancing _this entire time_ …?), Derek pulls Scott off the dance floor, Stiles waiting only a few beats before slipping out behind them.

He doesn’t get more than a few steps away from the lights before someone is grabbing him by the arm to pull him against their chest and then Derek is pressing his face in Stiles’ neck and breathing deep.

Derek almost immediately releases him with a growl, hand leaving Stiles’ arm just in time to catch the tail end of a shiver that being pressed up against that chest again caused. Derek spares a quick frown for him before heading towards the Main House, barking questions at Scott the entire time.

Shaking himself back to the present and firmly ordering certain parts of his body to _stand down_ , Stiles follows after them, grateful that Scott at least hasn’t forgotten that Stiles is merely human in his haste.

After turning back to growl at Scott to keep up for the third time, Derek finally realizes that Stiles is following them. His eyes catch a hint of red when he demands, “What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

“He was the one that told me about Erica, Derek. And besides, if Allison shows up, Stiles can give us an alibi.”

Derek looks less than happy with that, but he thankfully slows down enough that Stiles isn’t killing himself trying to keep up.

He is, however, killing himself with worry and he can’t keep quiet anymore.

“What’s wrong with Erica? Is she going to be alright? Weres can practically heal from _anything_ , right? If it can hurt her, can it hurt anyone else? Are you _sure_ that the two of you should–?”

“She’s not hurt, Stiles. She’s pregnant.”

**_Pregnant?!_ **

The information stops Stiles cold, unsure how to imagine tough-as-nails Erica as a mother. She really doesn’t seem like the kind of woman who _wants_ to be a mother, but Stiles could be _completely_ wrong about that. Maybe there is a softer side to her when she isn’t shoving people into doors and threatening to rip their balls off.

None of that matters right now, what _really_ matters now is, “What is he going to do about it?”

Is Erica going to keep dancing? Will she have to leave Argent’s? Will she get maternity leave? Is–

A low, rumbling growl interrupts Stiles’ thoughts and his gaze snaps to where Derek is standing, eyes now completely engulfed in red. Stiles can feel his heart thumping away in his chest, but he’s feeling more uncertainty than fear right now.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, ‘what is he going to do about it’? As soon as you hear she’s pregnant, you think it’s _mi_ –”

“No!” Stiles is once more looked at like he’s lying, but Scott _had_ said that Derek and Erica hadn’t been a couple since they were kids, and that _really_ **_wasn’t_** what he was thinking. “No, I was wondering… Well, you’re her Alpha, right? Are you going to make her stop dancing? Is she going to have maternity leave? Who is going to teach her classes? Are you going to have another of your Weres do it? And what kind of kid would it be? Can a Were _have_ a human kid?”

The entire tirade kind of falls out of Stiles’ mouth, his babbling always getting worse whenever he’s nervous, but it seems like his words are actually working on his side this time. Derek’s eyes dim as he goes on, and even _Scott_ looks a little thrown by Stiles’ word vomit.

In the end, Scott just shakes his head, tugs on Derek’s arm and mutters, “I really don’t think we should be having this discussion without Erica.”

That seems to jerk Derek back into action. It’s almost both Stiles _and_ Scott that get lost in the dust after that, something that Stiles is both grateful for and frustrated by.

They make it to the pantry right as Stiles has made up a complete list of reasons why it was a shit move to just _leave him_ with all those questions. However, Erica makes a soft, broken sound and every other thought is shot from his head.

Derek wastes no time in getting to Erica, a low soothing rumble emitting from his chest as he wraps her up in his arms. Like this, she looks so much younger than him, almost like a little sister that had a nightmare, and Stiles swallows at the realization that this baby may not be something Erica wants.

As useless as it may be with their enhanced senses, Stiles nonetheless walks beside Scott as they exit the pantry before Derek and Erica. He focuses more on making sure that no one is following them than any of the thoughts that are floating around his brain.

They make it to the outer building and the space is apparently safe enough for Derek to feel comfortable to start growling at Erica. Stiles understands that; a couple of his more harebrained schemes have had his Dad yelling at him as soon as he was sure Stiles wasn’t seriously injured.

“I’ve told you countless times; you have a problem, _you come to me_!”

It was kinda funny how _alike_ Derek and his father were, despite their differences.

“I couldn’t come to you, Derek! This was my problem and I knew that you didn’t need more on your plate. We’re Pack, yes, but that doesn’t mean that you have to shoulder all the blame.”

Scott scoffs at this, pausing in the midst of gathering blankets, food, pillows, all sorts of things to ask Erica, “Have you _met_ Derek?”

His comment makes Erica laugh, and as she lifts her head to retort, she spots Stiles standing by the door to the building.

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

Chuckling a little at the echo, Stiles quips, “You know, you’re the second person that asked me that…”

“Don’t get cute with me, rich kid, I’m in no mood.”

“Hey, this isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me either, but I want to help in any way possible–”

Erica laughs at that, loud and nasty, before stating, “How the fuck are you supposed to help? You don’t know shit about my problems!”

“Actually…” Scott interjects, looking nervous for the first time all night, “I… I might have told him… about you.”

“Scott!”

“I’m sorry! I was panicking!”

“Well, this is perfect! He’s going to go tell his little playmate girlfriend and then we’re going to get kicked out on the streets!” Erica tosses the blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders at Scott, eyes flashing and what look like _fangs_ slurring her speech. “Why don’t you just write it in the sky: Erica Reyes Gets Knocked Up By Jackson The Creep!”

“ ** _Jackson_**?!”

Stiles can’t help the exclamation, even though it gets everyone’s attention and has Derek up in arms again. He flails a bit as he tries to get his thoughts in order, but everything about this seems so ridiculous that – before he knows it – he’s babbling again.

“Out of everyone here, why **_Jackson_**? The guy’s a smarmy asshole and looks like he thinks everyone is dirt to be scraped off his shoe. If you were going to go for  _anyone_ , why not go for that one guy I saw moving all the logs that marked off all of the race areas? Dark skin, quiet, built like a brick shithouse?”

Erica’s eyes flash and she moves as if she’s going to follow through on her earlier threat, but Scott manages to jump between them, but not before Stiles sees what he _swears_ is a **_smirk_ ** lurking around Derek’s lips as he pulls Erica back.

“She’s going to need a doctor. Not just any doctor, one that knows about us, what we can take and what we can’t. A Druid.” Scott spares a quick look over his shoulder at Derek, who’s speaking softly to Erica and calming her down. “I know of someone, a real Druid that’s also a bona fide MD. He’s going to be traveling through here for one week only, but it’s also going to cost us about two hundred and fifty dollars.”

Stiles nods, figuring that the man would be willing to take what he can get, given who they are and what he can do. “Have you talked to Jackson? The guy is selfishness to a ‘T,’ but this _is_ partly his doing, so I’m sure that he–”

“He _knows_ , rich kid.” Erica’s voice has lowered to a dull growl, even as she leans into Derek’s embrace and closes her eyes. “He knows, and he _doesn’t care_. You don’t know what you’re talking about and have  _no idea_ what I’m going through. Why don’t you just go back to sucking on your silver spoon?”

Stiles bristles at the insult, frustrated that his opinion seems to matter so little just because he was born different than Erica was. He doesn’t bother trying to press when his contributions obviously are unwanted. Ignoring Scott when he calls out for him, Stiles slams out of the building and stomps his way toward his own cabin.

Does Erica _really_ think that Stiles has _no idea_ how hard the world can be, just because he’s a little richer than her? Does she _really think_  that he doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like the world is crumbling down around you, that there’s _nothing_ you can do for someone you care about, except just _sit there_ and **_watch_ ** as they–

Dropping down into a crouch just on the side of the walkway, Stiles takes deep breaths, counting in his head and trying to calm the panic that always hits him whenever he starts thinking about his Mom.

She had been beautiful and wonderful, able to save a rainy day with nothing but a smile and to banish nightmares with her calming voice when she sang. Stiles is glad that his Dad has Natalie, is so happy Lydia is his sister, but there are still moments when he misses his mother _fiercely_ …

Pushing himself to his feet, Stiles makes a decision; whether she likes him or not, Erica Reyes **_is_** going to get his help. He’ll talk to Jackson and make him see that this is something the other man cannot and _should not_ walk away from. Even if there is no love lost between the two of them, Jackson should _still_ be there for Erica and whatever she chooses to do.

Nodding to himself, Stiles finishes his walk back to his cabin and pretends to be sleeping when the rest of the family wander in a few hours later.

He really isn’t sure what he’d say to them, anyway.


	4. Step Up, Step In It

“What do you mean, you’re not going to help?”

“I meant exactly what I said,” Jackson sneers, folding down a tablecloth for the lunch that's scheduled in a few hours, placing it on the table in front of him. “I know you aren’t dumb, Stiles. Lydia mentioned how you can connect even the strangest of coincidences, so I know you can understand me when I say I’m not responsible for that Were’s problem.”

Stiles had found Jackson relatively easy that morning, given that the man had practically popped into existence as soon as they sat down to breakfast. The hard part was getting him alone to talk without raising any suspicions. He had finally managed it when he volunteered to help Jackson set up the outdoor lunch, commenting that he wanted to get to know the guy who captured Lydia’s attention.

Jackson had puffed up like a peacock at that and Stiles’ family had let them leave without any fuss (although Lydia  _had_ looked like she had a few things she was suspicious about). Now, though, Stiles is starting to wish that he had listened to Erica and just found another way to help her.

Because every word coming out of Jackson’s mouth is making him feel _sick_.

“There are some people that matter in this world, and some that don’t. Besides,” Jackson turns until he’s facing Stiles, the self-satisfied look on his face making bile rise in Stiles’ throat so much that he has to clamp his mouth shut just to keep from puking on the asshole.

“Why _should_ I help some chick that probably fucked every guy in this shitty resort?”

After Jackson’s last word, there is a sudden _tsunami_ of mud flying over his body, making him cough and rage, even as he’s spitting up dirt and filth. Wiping the mess from his eyes, he spins around to look for the culprit and Stiles follows his gaze to…

That one guy that is constantly helping set up the grounds, who is so busy that Stiles can never get a read on if he’s a Were or not, the guy he had pointed out to Erica and that he is just now realizing he’s never seen with friends.

A guy who blinks at Jackson and makes, “Sorry,” sound an awful lot like, “Fuck you.”

Jackson looks so shocked that Stiles has to bite back a giggle and the man continues to stare at both of them, completely blank waiting for one of them to make a move.

In the end, it’s Stiles that finally breaks the silence with a smothered laugh, making Jackson whip around to glare at him. It just makes Stiles laughter come out in full force, unable to take Jackson seriously when the man looks about as intimidating as a drowned rat.

“You little piece of sh-!”

“ _ **J**_ ** _ackson_**!”

Both Stiles and Kickass Stranger freeze as Chris’ voice booms out to where they’re standing, the man following shortly after.

The look in Chris’ eyes is pure steel, flickering over where Kickass Stranger is standing, to Stiles, and then finally resting on Jackson. It might be Stiles’ imagination, but those eyes seem to grow colder the longer Chris stares Jackson down.

“I thought I made it clear that the Stilinskis were my personal guests. Not just John and Natalie, but Lydia and Stiles as well. Where in that does it make it seem like you could threaten them?”

Chris’ voice is smooth and calm, not at all directed at Stiles, but he still feels a shiver go down his spine at those words. Kickass Stranger also seems to catch the tension and stands absolutely still, even going so far as to make his not-inconsiderable-frame look a little smaller.

Jackson, on the other hand, does not seem to get that he’s one word away from getting the shit kicked out of him. Or he’s just too stupid to realize it.

Stiles would place money on the latter.

“ _He’s_ the one that was laughing at me, sir! His stupid friend decided to throw mud all over me and—”

“It was an accident!”

“Shut the hell up, Jackson!” Chris roars over both of them, staring them down so they can do nothing but comply. “I saw the whole thing. Boyd lost his grip and you just happened to be the unfortunate victim of bad luck. As far as laughing at you goes… If I wasn’t so pissed off that you were _threatening_ one of my _guests_ , I’d be laughing at you too. Go get changed, Whittemore. You look ridiculous.”

Fuming, no doubt at the fact that he isn’t getting the backup he wanted, Jackson stomps past Chris while muttering under his breath. Chris watches as he goes, before turning back to where Stiles and the man he now knows is called ‘Boyd’ are standing.

Giving them a small nod and telling Boyd to, “Keep a better grip on things from now on,” Chris follows Jackson back to the Main House, leaving Stiles and Boyd all alone.

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

Boyd’s voice isn’t condescending, nor is it aggressive; it’s calm and quiet like he’s just stating a fact. Stiles nods once and sighs as he surveys the open area ahead of him, wondering how he was going to find his Dad in all of this sp—

“Your parents are on the golf course.”

Jerking his head to look over at the other man, Stiles opens his mouth to ask–

“That’s where you’re going next, isn’t it? I heard you talking to Jackson about Eri– about that Were girl and it just makes sense you would go to your parents afterward.”

–before closing it.

“You know…” Stiles drawls, watching as Boyd’s fingers clench on the tablecloth in his hands, “I could let Erica know that you helped if you want.”

Boyd shrugs, like whatever Stiles does has no bearing one way or the other, but Stiles can see the way his lips almost twitched into a smile at her name. Grinning himself, Stiles makes his way over to the golf course, his good mood only lasting as long as it takes for him to realize that he’s going to have to talk his way around getting his father to help him.

Sighing heavily, Stiles asks the caddie at the beginning of the course if he knows where his Dad and Natalie are. After being told that they are still near the start of the course because his Dad is teaching Natalie how to make a proper stroke, Stiles heads in that direction.

Watching for a moment as his Dad wraps his arms around Natalie and pulls a very ‘here, let me help you’ move, Stiles has to smile at how in love the pair of them are. His Dad is constantly smiling and laughing with Natalie, looks forward to their dates together, and the both of them take every opportunity to tease him and Lydia with kisses and playful comments of their nights together.

Erica deserved that kind of happiness.

Squaring his shoulders, Stiles makes his way over to where his Dad and Natalie are. His Dad sees him coming and mutters something in Natalie’s ear, something that makes her laugh and swat at his arm as he releases her and walks over to Stiles.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Does it have to be _now_ , Stiles?” John’s voice is playful as he sends a significant look Natalie’s way, making her giggle and blush. “This place is making me feel twenty years younger and I was hoping—”

“Dad, someone is in trouble.”

 _That_ gets his father’s attention, making the man straighten and causing a swell of fondness to fill Stiles’ chest. It makes him wonder if all of this could be solved by just telling his father about Erica and Jackson, have him make Jackson see that he needs to help Erica and that not doing so is completely  _disgusting_.

He doesn’t though, his conversation with Jackson stilling his tongue and making him doubt. Stiles had been _so sure_ that Jackson would step up when he found out how bad off Erica was, but the little shit had just laughed at him and made some comment about some people mattering more than others.

What if his father was the same way…?

“What’s wrong, Stiles? Who’s in trouble?”

Shaking his head back to the present, Stiles makes a snap decision and states, “I can’t tell you that, but I know how to help. Could you… Could you loan me two hundred and fifty dollars?”

John immediately grips Stiles’ shoulders and begins looking him over, “Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?! Is it Lydia?”

A little shocked by that reaction, it takes Stiles a few seconds to get what his father is saying. “It’s not me. Dad! I’m fine! Lydia’s fine too!”

Huffing out a breath, John tugs his son in for a quick hug. “We came here to _relax_ , son! **_Not_ ** for you to give me a heart attack!”

Mumbling out an apology, Stiles takes the opportunity to lean into the hug he was given. While the Stilinskis  _did_ hug and show each other that they cared, there were rarely times where Stiles got to indulge in the close comfort that a hug offered, both of them too busy to really linger. Now, though, he allows himself a few extra minutes in his father’s embrace.

He has a feeling that he’s not going to get the chance to do so again for a long while.

Pressing a reassuring palm against Stiles’ head, John gently extracts himself from his son’s embrace. “Now, since you’re done scaring the crap out of me, mind telling me what this is all about? Two hundred and fifty dollars is a decent amount of money, Stiles. It makes me wonder what you want to use it for.”

This part was going to be tough, Stiles _knew_ that, but he can’t help the way his gut clenches at his Dad’s expression when he reiterates, “I told you, I can’t tell you.”

“We promised each other we’d tell each other everything, Stiles.” The hurt in his father’s voice tears at his heart, but Stiles can’t help the fear that his Dad knowing will only end in disaster and an order not to speak to the Weres that were slowly becoming important to him.

So, he shores up his resolve and states, “I can’t tell you this. I’m sorry, but it is important, and I wouldn’t be saying this about just anything.”

“It’s not _illegal_ , is it?”

Stiles swallows hard, _hating_ that he needs to do this, _hates_ that this won’t be the only time he needs to.

Because he  _does_ need to. No, he **_has_ ** to do this. To help Erica.

So, he hitches a smile on his face and says, “No, Dad. Of course not.”

John frowns, shakes his head and gives Stiles a returning grin. “Of course not. It’s the cop in me, kid, covering all the angles. I’ll make sure you have the money by tonight… Just promise me you haven’t found some kind of underground gambling ring hidden among the cabins and have wracked up a huge debt that one of those Weres is going to break your legs for?”

Stiles lets out a relieved laugh, more of a hysterical giggle really, at how close but so far away from the truth his father is. “I promise. No gambling from me. I promise to also keep an eye out for any Lady Lydia cults as well!”

His Dad laughs, even as Natalie walks up to wrap an arm around John’s waist and ask if everything is alright. John gives her a kiss on the cheek and reassures her everything is fine, winking at Stiles over her shoulder.

It just makes the pain in his stomach _twist_ , but Stiles manages to give his Dad a smile in return before asking them about how their game was going, filling the air with meaningless chatter.

* * *

There’s a stargazing event going on after dinner, where John makes good on his word with an envelope and a nod before they sit down, so it’s easy to slip away when everyone’s attention is diverted elsewhere. Stiles only waits long enough for his Dad and Natalie to get pulled into a discussion before disappearing, Lydia nowhere to be found.

Stiles tells himself he’ll find out where she went off to after he makes his little delivery, hoping she has the smarts he knows she does to stay away from Jackson while he’s gone…

Those thoughts occupy him as he makes his way to the outbuilding the Weres hold their parties in, feeling the same sense of wonder and _want_ overcome him as he takes in the dancing people filling the building from wall to wall.

Maybe someday, he can come here and try their kind of dancing again. He’ll stay close to a wall, make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone when he inadvertently trips over his own feet.

Shaking those kinds of thoughts out of his head, Stiles looks around the room, seeing Derek and Erica almost immediately along the far edge, with Scott watching from the sidelines near the food. He slowly makes his way over to where Scott is standing, nodding at him when he gets to his side.

“Derek. Erica. Can you come over here real quick?”

A pair of kaleidoscope eyes snap up and meet his gaze almost as soon as he says the first name, causing Stiles’ heart to thunder in his chest, dimly aware of Scott calling out to him. He’s unable to answer him as Derek and Erica make their way over to where he’s standing, Derek completely focused on him and Erica looking like she would like nothing more than to throw him through the wall.

“What are you doing here, Stiles? Get tired of sucking up to boss-kid?”

Sighing heavily at Erica’s continued disdain for him, Stiles reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the envelope sitting there. “Here.”

“What is this, payment for my silence? Sorry, Stiles, but it’s gonna take a lot more than your pocket... mon... ey...”

Derek’s gaze finally slips from trying to bore a hole in Stiles’ skull to glance over to where Erica is standing, eyes wide on the pile of bills in her hand. Her voice is trembling when she looks up at Stiles and asks, “Jackson...?”

Stiles hates to kill the bit of hope she has, but he knows she can see the answer before he even shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. You were right. He’s a grade-A asshole and laughed at me about the whole thing.”

Erica blinks at Stiles, her expression like she just got hit over the head with a hammer. “So, you...”

“Well,” Stiles feels a little uncomfortable with the way that Erica is looking at him, joined now by Derek and Scott. It is unnerving being the center of attention like this. “You needed the money...”

“So, you went and batted your lashes at Daddy?” Derek snorts, before glaring back at the look Scott gives him. “What, you really think that this kid has that amount of dough just lying around? No, he went and asked Daddy to give it to him, like everything else.”

Stiles’ face flushes at the dismissive tone that Derek has, both at the fact that he isn’t wrong, and the fact that – with each word he says – Erica's expression drops lower and lower.

“I’m not taking your father’s money.” Erica shoves the envelope at Stiles’ chest and stomps back off to the dancefloor. Scott gives Derek a dark look before going after her, dodging between the dancers and leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

Something Stiles has absolutely no problem with, as he has a few words to say to the moody asshole.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I’m just trying to help her, and you throw that back in my face? So _what_ if I got the money from my father? She needed it and I got it, so why don’t you just push aside whatever problem you have with me and just fucking say thank you?!”

Derek growls lowly, but a few of the dancers are grinning at Stiles behind his back and it gives Stiles the confidence to meet his stare head-on. Granted, he can’t tell if it’s because they’re looking forward to seeing him be ripped to shreds or not, but still.

Scott comes back with Erica right as Derek is opening up his mouth to say something, effectively cutting him off when she states, “Scott says that I need to tell you why I can’t take your money. Says it isn’t right that I just up and walk off like that.” Huffing out a breath like Scott’s interest in communication is an annoyance, Erica shoulders on with, “Aside from the fact that I’m nobody’s charity case, I can’t take the money because the only time Scott can get ahold of the Druid is a week from Friday.”

“What’s so important about that day?”

“It’s when we have our big dance, the one that shows off how well we can move and lines us up for next season.” Scott rolls his eyes at Derek when he growls at that, Erica continuing on as if nothing at all happened. “If we don’t do it, we lose out on a decent chunk of our paycheck and some other eager pair of pups will snatch up our gig.”

“Can’t you do the dance _before_ the Druid gets here?”

“Do you really think that a Druid is going to wait around until _we’re_ good and ready to see _him_?” Derek seems to be on edge with all this talk of Druids, constantly reaching out to either Scott or Erica to run a hand over their shoulder or arm. “Besides, it isn’t like this dance is being held here. It’s over at the Calavera’s, a hotel that’s a good hour and a half away.”

“And no one else can do it?”

“No, because everybody here _works_ for a living.” Derek takes a breath, visibly pulling in his frustration before stating, ”This isn't something you can fix. We’ll find another way.”

Scott, who has been surprisingly quiet up until this point, asks, “What if _Stiles_ does the dance?”

Like he’s saying it right as he gets the idea.

“What are you talking about, Scott?” Derek sounds less than pleased with that idea, glaring at Stiles like _he_ was the one that came up with it. Stiles glares back, annoyed at being blamed for something that he does _not_ agree with.

“I saw how he was dancing with you. He can move pretty well.” Scott gives Stiles a grin like he’s inviting him to agree with whatever insane plan that’s cooking up in his brain.

There was just one problem with that: Stiles was aware of how very _insane_ that was and wasn’t agreeing to _anything_! “No, Scott. I can’t even do the merengue. Stop whatever you’re planning right now!”

“Derek _is_ one of the strongest teachers we have,” Erica says slowly, almost like she’s getting infected with Scott’s irrationality. “He could teach you. He could teach anybody!”

“Are you nuts, Erica? He said he couldn’t do it. He can’t even do the merengue!” Derek’s last words are a derisive snort, lighting up something in Stiles that makes him grit his teeth in annoyance.

Now, he is more than aware that he isn’t the best dancer, that even _normal_ humans are more graceful than he is, but acting like that is something to be  _mocked_ is a surefire way to light a fire under his ass.

“You’ll take the money if I do this, right?” Stiles asks, making Derek’s head snap in his direction. “You can even think of it as a bonus for teaching me the dances we need on such short notice.”

Derek’s “What? No!” is overpowered by Erica’s “Yes! Deal!” and any subsequent complaints are drowned out by Scott’s plans to get ahold of the Druid, with Erica informing Derek that this is the only way to get her to see the man in the first place.

Stiles just stands in the middle of it all, hoping that he didn’t make a horrible mistake.


	5. Lessons In Body Language

The early morning sunrise finds Stiles at one of the old outer buildings, shuffling along to some music and almost immediately stomping on Derek’s foot.

“Sorry, sorry!”

A low growl slips past Derek’s lips as he moves back to the record player and yanks the needle off the record.

“You don’t step on the one, you step on the two. It goes one- _t_ _wo_ -three-four, one- _two_ -three-four. You have to find the second beat!”

“I told you that I didn’t know how to do any of these dances!” Stiles snaps, having already heard this _twice_ in the past _hour_.

“And I told _you_ we only have a week to learn this routine!” Derek barks back, a brief flash of red in his eyes before he closes them and breathes deeply, fingers gripping the edge of the record player before restarting the song. “You just need to listen to the music. Listen for the second beat and don’t start until you find it.”

Stiles swallows hard and nods, arms up in preparation for the start of the dance and trying not to feel disheartened by how long it’s taking to learn this while Derek and the others just seem to know what to do.

“Hey.” Derek has also moved into position, taking Stiles’ hands and shaking them a bit to get his attention, giving him a small smile. “You’ll get this, we just need to practice a little more.”

Nodding while trying to tamp down the negative feelings that want to take over, Stiles does as Derek has instructed and listens to the music. He thinks he finally has the beat and is just about to step forward when Derek’s sharp “No!” makes him stumble over himself.

A surprising feat, considering he was standing still.

Derek’s eyes start to bleed into red at the edges, but before he can start yelling at Stiles again, he’s interrupted by Erica bursting into the room, breaking them apart as Derek goes to greet her.

“So, has Derek tried to kill you yet, rich kid?”

A growl follows that statement, but Erica just laughs it off as she glides over to where Stiles is standing. Placing her hands on her hips, she gives him a quick glance before shaking her head.

“Your form is all wrong.”

“I know. He told me that already.”

“Well, you need to fix that. If you practice with a fucked-up form, you’ll dance with a fucked-up form.” Erica prowls around Stiles, pushing at his shoulders and pressing at his back before motioning Derek over to them. “Practice makes permanent, after all.”

“Why are you here, again?” Stiles complains, feeling uncomfortable with Erica at his back and Derek at his front.

Yeah… _Uncomfortable_ is what he’s feeling…

Erica’s laughter is sharp and playful, almost like she can smell exactly what it is he’s trying _not_ to think about. “If you’re going to dance my part, I’m gonna help Derek make sure you do it _right_!”

Oh, _joy_.

Erica presses forward and asks, “You ready?”

No.

“As I’ll ever be.”

She and Derek move at the same time, forcing Stiles to at least shuffle a bit or get stomped on. This causes Erica to burst out laughing, but not – rather unfairly, in Stiles’ opinion – to lose her rhythm or timing.

They go a few passes in this way before enough feet are stomped on that the Weres decide to take a break. Stiles is sure that his heels will never be the same again and doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be helping them with a dance if his feet are sore.

“You don’t really put a lot of wiggle in your walk, do you?” Erica asks, Derek taking a moment to watch as Stiles moves, trying to see what he’s working with.

“What are you talking about?”

Stiles already feels exposed dancing in front of Derek like this, he really doesn’t want to figure out what game Erica is playing.

“You know! A little shimmy in your step! Make the crowd take a look without making it seem like you’re asking for their attention.” At Stiles’ blank look, Erica rolls her eyes with almost her entire head before stating, “Like this.”

She starts at the other end of the room, doing a couple of sways and spins that have a little something more in them. It makes Stiles’ eyes drift to her hips and chest, even as he tries not to. Derek’s laughter is the only thing that snaps him out of it, spinning to glare at him even as Derek is grinning.

(It’s all that he can do _to_ glare; Derek looks even _more_ gorgeous when he’s smiling, the only downside being that it’s at Stiles’ expense.)

“Alright, rich kid. Your turn.”

“I can barely stand on my feet when I’m _not_ dancing, how are you expecting this to be any different?” Stiles asks, even as he’s moving to the opposite side of the room.

“You’d be surprised what you can do when the occasion calls for it.” Erica retorts, starting up the music and bouncing like she was just told that a party was being held in her honour. “Come on! Show me what you got!”

Blowing out a breath, Stiles tries to mimic what Erica had done, but only makes it halfway across the room before a choked off noise from Derek makes him stop and look over at the man.

He’s no longer sitting on the ground, he’s facing the wall and his shoulders have this tenseness to them that makes a pit open up in the bottom of Stiles’ stomach.

“I said I couldn’t do this! You don’t have to mock me for it!”

“Why don’t we call it a day for now?” Erica interjects, sounding more like that was an order, not a suggestion. She’s also looking at Derek like she wants to say something, but it isn’t something that she wants Stiles to hear.

Knowing – and grateful for – a dismissal when he hears one, Stiles just nods and picks up his coat from where he tossed it. “I’ll see you here at the same time tomorrow?”

It’s a few moments before Derek answers, but when he does, it’s a very stilted, “Yeah. That’s fine.”

All while still facing the far wall.

With a heavy sigh, Stiles leaves the outbuilding, waiting until he makes it to the bridge that connects all the buildings to each other before he stops for a second, thinks, and then puts his hands up in the parody of dancing with a partner.

“One- _two_ -three-four, one- _two_ -three-four…”

* * *

The next few days pass this way; either with Derek and Erica, or Derek alone, Stiles is put through his paces. Everything from the way that he stands, to the rhythm and beat he dances to, gets poked at and corrected.

And nearly every day, Derek tries – in one way or another – to help Stiles find that ‘certain thing’ that makes it easier for him to ‘get’ the dance.

The first few times he tried, Derek growled out something to do with ‘sensing the moment’ or ‘hearing the changes in the music.’ Stiles, frustrated with the fact that his feet weren’t doing what his brain was telling them to do, had snapped out something about not understanding what he was talking about. Derek had rejoined that if he was a _Were_ , then he _would_ understand what Derek was telling him.

 _That_ had led to a shouting match that culminated in Stiles screaming that Derek taught human dancers all the time, he didn’t understand why it was so hard for him to teach Stiles. He may have also added in that maybe the problem lay with _Derek_ and not with _him_ before stomping his way out of the building.

Stiles hadn’t come back for a day and a half, instead learning from Erica (which had ended up more venting than learning) and having Scott teach him a few pointers.

(Having Scott teach him was one of the _worst_ ideas he ever had; enthusiastic the boy might have been, a dance teacher he was _not_. It was one of the few times that Stiles was sure that his feet had been stomped on more than he did the stomping!)

After a somewhat stilted apology, Derek seemed to get that he couldn’t treat Stiles like one of his Weres and the lessons between the two of them continued with a much more peaceful pace. Derek never stopped trying to show Stiles how to make the music and his steps match up, however, and started nearly every lesson with an explanation.

Today was no different.

“It’s not just about the music, Stiles. It’s about a feeling. A…” Derek pauses, no doubt wonders how to explain this to a _human_. Stiles, instead of getting angry as he had at the beginning, simply waits.

“It’s like a heartbeat.” Derek lightly taps at his chest, a double beat that Stiles is all too familiar with at this point. “Thud-thud. Thud-thud.”

Stiles reaches up and mimics the movement on his own chest, which makes Derek chuckle.

“No, not that hard. Here–”

Freezing at the feeling of Derek taking his hand, Stiles stares wide-eyed when Derek places Stiles’ hand against his own chest. He can feel Derek’s heart beating soft and steady against his palm, a soothing counterpoint to the frantic pace his own is taking.

“Thud-thud. Thud-thud.” Derek’s voice is softer than Stiles has ever heard it as he lightly taps Stiles’ hand in time with his words. “Thud-thud. Thud-thud.”

Stiles’ heart is slowly starting to mimic that steady mantra, his fingers almost unconsciously following Derek’s lead with a light tattoo against the flesh underneath them.

It seems natural to just… _move_ when Derek starts in on the steps, his voice keeping that soft ‘thud-thud’ going, making Stiles feel like he’s slowly drifting into a trance as he focuses on the feeling of Derek’s heart and the beat that is thumping under his fingers.

He’s not sure how much time passes before Derek’s “Good! That’s much better!” makes him startle as the man in question pulls away to reset the record player.

Stiles tries to ignore the way the tips of his fingers tingle as he listens to Derek explain the next few steps of their dance.

Wetting his lips to combat how dry his throat is, Stiles may freeze a little when he notices that Derek has turned around and–

Is Derek looking at his mouth?

Wetting his lips again, albeit a little slower this time, Stiles loses his breath at the realization that Derek _was_ staring at his mouth and his eyes seem to be gaining a bit of red the longer the two of them gaze at each other.

Feeling like he’s on the edge of a precipice with no way to see the bottom, Stiles is just opening his mouth to say something – exactly what, he isn’t sure – when Erica chooses to burst into the room.

The very first time she had done that, Stiles could have kissed her. Now, all he really feels like doing is strangling her as she pushes past them and effectively ruins whatever it was that was happening between them.

For the rest of the lesson, Stiles feels off center and a little… disappointed, if he’s honest. Derek has to keep reminding him to not look down and to lock his frame, Erica coming up behind Stiles to keep his shoulders up and back straight.

Something that he hasn’t needed since _his first day_.

None of this is helped by the fact that Derek is shirtless and sweaty, making it hard for Stiles to concentrate on what they’re doing and not what almost happened.

It takes a little while, but Stiles gets his mind back on track, focusing on the dance and the music, everything that Derek and Erica have been pounding into his head for the past few days.

Today, he isn’t tripping over his feet after every third note, making Derek practically have to pull him through the steps. Now he glides across the hall and his steps are sure, on point, and steady. He’s managed to do this in both sneakers and dress shoes, pants and slacks. He has the steps _down_ and knows what he's doing.

He can handle dancing while wondering what it is about Derek that makes his heart beat a little faster.


	6. Family and Final Lessons

“What made you decide to be a dancer?”

Stiles is surprised that he hadn’t asked sooner, what with how much talent and practice that Derek had. It was obvious in the way that he moved and taught that this was something he absolutely _adored_.

“You mean, out of every other job I could’ve had?” Derek huffs, dropping into the grass next to Stiles, a self-deprecating smile on his lips as he flicks back his soaked hair.

They had moved to the open air after Derek had finally decided to mention that the Calaveras were fine with Weres dancing at their hotel, as long as they didn’t show off too much of their ‘other’ side. Which included Derek not just heaving Stiles into the air when they did the lift in the middle of their dance.

That _might_ have led to another screaming match between the two of them, with Stiles demanding to know why Derek waited until _two days before the dance_ to tell them this and Derek insisting that Stiles had to learn the rest of the dance before they moved onto anything more complicated.

Stiles had retorted that was a _perfect_ teaching method; having him learn the entire dance a certain way and then throw something _completely different_ in it _two days_ before the dance. Did Derek _not_ want them to get their spot next year?

Derek had stared at him for a few seconds, face slack in shock before he managed to pull it back into something more walled up and nodded at Stiles. Grabbing his jacket, he had practically ordered Stiles to follow him.

Getting into Derek’s car – a _beautiful_ 1962 Chevrolet Camaro that Stiles may have spent a few minutes gushing over – Stiles had tried to be as calm and collected as possible, not bouncing around in excitement when Derek pulled away from the resort.

The grin pulling at Derek’s lips had said he hadn’t really minded, though.

They had driven out to an open clearing, Derek leaving the car and telling Stiles they were going to practice lifts until it became as easy to Stiles as breathing. Stiles had been hesitant about that, but had agreed to try, with Derek correcting Stiles’ form every time. It had been a little difficult in the beginning, despite Stiles knowing that Derek’s Were strength wouldn’t have him meeting the ground again – face first.

After Stiles nearly kneed Derek in the face for the _third_ time, Derek had said that the best place for lifts was in the water.

Stripping down to his pants – while trying not to make it obvious that he was checking Derek out as he did so – Stiles had felt a little ridiculous ‘just jumping’ as Derek ordered him to do. Still, he leaped as instructed and tried his hardest to hold his frame, Derek’s hands strong and sure upon his midriff.

It took a few goes of getting used to the sudden weightlessness that came with being lifted, but Stiles is pretty sure that they can incorporate it into the dance now without much trouble.

He’s brought back to the present by Derek heaving out a heavy sigh and laying out on the grass under him, uncaring of the dirt and debris that is now clinging to his wet form. After a moment, Stiles quietly follows him down, head braced on one hand as Derek begins speaking.

“My mother was really outspoken about how Weres shouldn’t be seen as just monsters on the fringe of society. She even had all of us kids learn things that were considered too ‘soft’ for our kind.” Derek turns to look at Stiles, eyes dim with remembrance and old sorrow. “Did I ever tell you that I had siblings? Two sisters and a brother?”

Stiles shakes his head, unable to say that all that Derek had really talked about in the past week and a half had been the upcoming dance and how they really couldn’t fuck it up. Even if they _were_ friends, Stiles isn’t sure that this is something that Derek willingly shared.

“Laura was older than me and really loved to cook, Cora and Matthew were younger, loved to play pranks and both had a knack for knitting. They all died in a house fire, along with my parents, that the authorities ruled as a freak accident.” Derek scoffs, a low light of anger in his eyes as he stares out across the empty field. “An _accident_ , like there wasn’t _a whole community_ of people that were screaming about the _abominations_ that were living amongst ‘decent people.’”

Stiles can’t help but reach out and place a hand on Derek’s arm, his heart clenching at the thought of losing his Dad, Natalie, and Lydia all in one fell swoop. He had nearly stopped completely when his mother had died and that had been when he was a _child_.

He isn’t sure what he would do if he lost all of them _now_.

A shuddering breath draws his attention back to Derek, his eyes closed, and face tilted up towards the sky. “My uncle wanted to wreak vengeance on all of them, the whole city. He had barely survived the fire; half his face was covered in burns and he was in a coma for months on end before he could even move his arm. I just wanted to get away from all the memories, so I packed a bag and left, telling him that I didn’t care what he did after that.”

Stiles slowly lowers his head, so that he’s laying next to Derek, quietly offering a listening ear to something that he’s sure that Derek never even told his _Pack_.

“I had been on the road for a few months when I woke up one morning and it felt like I was the only person in the entire world. It was then that I knew that my uncle was dead, and I was the last of the Hale Clan. It took me a long while before I chose my first Beta, before I thought I was good enough to _stay_ an Alpha and not fall down to Beta, Omega, and then death.”

Stiles sucks in a sharp breath at that, making Derek look back at him. This close, his eyes look like microscopic galaxies that Stiles feels himself floating in as Derek softly continues his story.

“Working here and finding Isaac happened at the same time; I never stopped dancing, feeling like I was keeping my mother alive that way, and there was this one man that came here when I first applied for a job. He was there with this little shivering wisp of a kid and when that kid looked at me, I just _knew_. That year, someone finally paid for their crimes and my Pack grew a member stronger. I taught him as my mother taught me, both how to be a wolf and how to still keep his human side strong.”

“Dancing is my escape from it all,” Derek finishes, eyes once more slipping closed and head slightly tilted downward. “It’s the only time when I’m not Derek the Werewolf or Derek the Alpha. I’m just Derek the dancer, moving and living like everyone else and trying to have a bit of freedom in between all of the madness that follows me.”

That’s the most that Stiles has ever heard Derek say at one time, and it seems to have exhausted him to the point of drifting off. Reliving all of that pain and sorrow probably didn’t help matters either. Stiles just lays there, barely even breathing, as the wind slowly drifts around them and plays with the strands of Derek’s hair.

After everything that Derek had shared, Stiles would rather cut off his own arm than wake him now.

* * *

In no time at all, the final two days have passed, and Stiles is heading toward one of the dance studios to do a suit fitting and the last practice with Derek before the big dance that night.

Erica was quizzing him on the turns and steps that he needed to do when Stiles bumped into someone exiting the dance hall and sent all of their things to the ground.

Rolling her eyes at him, Erica immediately bends down to help the stranger with his things, grabbing a wallet and some cards off the floor while apologizing for Stiles’ clumsiness. Stiles was quick to follow when Erica glared at him, scooping up some cash and a second wallet for the man.

“Thank you, it’s not his fault really. I was distracted and wasn’t looking where I was going. It’s my fault, let me get those…”

Stiles jerks a little when he hears that voice, almost immediately recognizing who it is as soon as they began speaking; Theo Hesiones, son of Deucalion Hesiones and a soon-to-be student of Harvard Law School.

He had been told all of this within his first few hours of meeting the man, somewhere between when his family first arrived and that first dinner, when they had been introduced to _Jackson_. It makes Stiles want to laugh that he had met the two people that bothered him most _on the same day_.

Some of his unease must show on his face because Theo’s smile dims just a bit before he hitches back up and nods at Erica. “I really should get going now, I was sure that my father was just–”

“Theo?”

“Ah, there you are!”

Hesiones Sr. comes out, the _tap-tap-tap_ of his cane preluding him as always as Theo offers his father his arm with a grin. The pair offer their goodbyes and make their way down the hill, leaving Erica and Stiles to themselves.

Something that Erica immediately uses to punch Stiles in the shoulder.

“OW!” Stiles rubs at his shoulder while glaring at the woman beside him. “What the hell was that fo–?”

“You _know_ what that was for! Selene,” an interesting curse, one that Stiles has only heard around his Were companions, “could you be _any_ ruder to that guy??”

Huffing angrily, Stiles stomps ahead of her into the studio, immediately going for the lockers in the back and the suit waiting for him there.

It was an old suit of Scott’s, which was kind of hilarious because Stiles had only ever seen him in his street clothes, and they needed to take it in a few places because Stiles was less muscular than his Were-enhanced friend. Which was completely unfair, because Stiles had seen him stuffing his face more than once and having nothing to show for it.

“There was something _off_ about him, Erica!” Stiles insists, pulling the dress shirt over his head. “I have a sense for these things!”

“The _only_ thing you have a sense of is _nonsense_!” Erica retorts, flattening out the collar of the shirt from where Stiles mussed it. “When have you _ever_ been right about someone being shifty? _Really_?”

Stiles opens his mouth to say that he had known Jackson was an ass _before_ he had met Erica but thankfully thinks better of it. Erica just started warming up to him, he really doesn’t want her to beat the crap out of him because he said the wrong thing.

So, he huffs at her and lets her think that she stumped him, tugging on his shoes and lacing them up. They bicker through the entire bit of small last-minute changes that still need to be added to the suit, Erica laughing outright at the yelp she gets when she comments on Stiles’ ass, complete with an appreciative slap to the area.

It’s when they’re walking down the hallway to meet up with Derek, Stiles nervously practicing his steps as he goes, that Stiles realizes how quiet Erica has become. A quick look to his right shows that she isn’t walking beside him either.

Turning around, Stiles sees that Erica has stopped a few feet behind him and is staring at him with an expression he can’t really decipher. Huffing out a breath, Stiles is just about to comment on her checking out his ass again, but she stops him with a few soft words.

“Thank you, Stiles.”

“You’re welcome,” is his reply, the words coming automatically before he stops to think about it. “For what?”

“For… _everything_?” Erica waves a hand through the air, her face twisting into an expression that says she’s slightly uncomfortable with what they’re talking about. “For getting the money for the Druid, for helping us out with this dance, for helping us out _at all_?!? Just… everything.”

“ _Of course_ , I would help you.” Stiles is a little surprised by this outburst, and he knows that Erica can hear it in his voice. “Why _wouldn’t_ I help you?”

“Yeah, why _wouldn’t_ you?” Erica’s voice sounds far too sad to be a real agreement, but she’s continuing on before Stiles can ask her about it. “I know what Jackson says about me; that I was basically a whore and would give it up to anybody who asked, anyone who looked my way. That wasn’t– _isn’t_ true. I only…”

Erica sighs out heavily, losing her tough demeanor and becoming almost… _vulnerable_ , seemingly more open than before.

“I was only with Jackson because he said that he cared about me. He said that he saw a life for us together, that it didn’t matter– That it didn’t matter that I was…”

Stiles moves before he can even think it through, wrapping Erica up in his arms and squeezing her tightly. She tenses up for a moment and Stiles has a second’s fear that she’s about to shove him off and snap that he had no right to touch her before she’s squeezing him right back.

Stiles can only stand and hug Erica for a few moments, mainly because he thinks she forgot that he’s a mere human and really put some oomph in her squeeze before he’s pulling away and smiling at her.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll do this dance, you’ll see the Druid, and then you can find someone that _really_ cares about you. Someone strong and silent, someone who I only just found out a few days ago even _had_ a first name.”

Erica huffs at him, even going so far as to playfully swipe at him before spinning on her heel and walking down the hall, muttering something about getting to Derek before he thinks that Stiles ran off with her or something.

Sighing but with a slight smile, Stiles follows her, thinking that he’ll find a way to introduce Erica and Boyd – something that he’s been trying to do ever since they first decided that Stiles would dance for Erica – some other day.

Derek is less than impressed by how long it had taken for Erica and Stiles to get to him, his expression getting more serious when they both claimed that ‘nothing’ held them up and that they were ‘only talking.’

Thank God for Erica and her ability to switch subjects. Soon enough, she has Derek more focused on their upcoming dance and away from whatever Stiles and Erica had been up to.

Their last rehearsal goes off without any hiccups, Derek incorporating the lift into the dance almost flawlessly, making Stiles think that it had been there since the start. The lesson ends with Derek and Erica all smiles, and with Stiles feeling cautiously optimistic that this night will pass without a hitch.


End file.
